


uncomfortable

by lavish (valerian)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Time Skip, Unresolved Sexual Tension, girl who is super flirty with tsundere boi is my favorite dynamic, stupid sexy idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 00:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerian/pseuds/lavish
Summary: Dorothea wears a tight dress that makes Felix all kinds of uncomfortable.





	uncomfortable

It is difficult to believe, but against all odds they grow close. He and Dorothea. 

Dorothea of the loud mouth and the insincere smile. Dorothea of the wicked eyes and sultry, musical voice. Dorothea of the bosom spilling out her dress and the rounded bottom that is so…luscious and indulgent and firm-looking that her wearing a dress should really be illegal.

Like.

Seriously.

The dress she’s wearing today is particularly distracting. It’s a tight, black little number, that hits just above her knees and has a generous, _generous _slit going up her left thigh. Felix can make out her panties through the slit, for goddess’ sake, and this without squinting and pretending to be looking at something in the distance. 

She’s wearing a black thong, lacy and sheer by the looks of it. And he sure, _sure_ should _not_ be looking at it, but he can’t because it’s so…visible. 

“You checking Dory out too?” Sylvain asks from behind him, the sneaky bastard. He’s got a glass of mead in his hand and a smirk on his face, looking very much like the cat who got the cream. “Goddess, I love women’s clothing.” 

“I am not,” Felix grunts curtly, being sure to focus his gaze very intently on the wall opposite them. “Don’t be crass.”

“Hey, I hate to be _that guy_, but she’s kind of asking for it.” Sylvain shrugs. “If she didn’t want an audience, she shouldn’t have worn something for the stage—”

Felix elbows him in the gut. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Well, am I _wrong_ though?”

“She can wear whatever she wants. And she has every right _not_ to hear you squawk about it.” 

“I’m not squawking at _her_, now am I?” Sylvain asks. “I’m making an observation _to you_. This is a conversation between gentlemen.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “‘Gentlemen,’ my ass. Good night, Sylvain.” He turns and stalks toward the buffet table, where cakes and cookies are stacked high and precariously next to slices of pheasant and fox, bowls of punch and peach sorbet. He grabs a plate and spoons himself a healthy serving of Daphnel stew before retreating behind a column at the far end of the dining hall. 

This soiree, thrown together last minute by Mercedes and Annette, was intended to be their last hurrah before they head out to Gronder Field. There they will fight their former friends and classmates.

It’s a battle Felix is very much _not_ looking forward to, the idea of killing someone he knows sending shudders down his spine. But it’s in two days’ time, and a swordsman needs protein, so he scarfs the stew down, making eye contact with no one. Not even Dorothea, who spots him, goddess damn it.

“Felix, what are you doing hiding behind a column?” she asks, sauntering up to him, hips swaying and all that. 

He mis-swallows a particularly large bite and starts to cough. 

She pats him several times on the back. “My dear, are you okay?”

“I’m—not—a—_dear_,” he manages to splutter through his coughs, his face hot. He wipes stew off the corner of his mouth and clears his throat. “So don’t—call me that.”

“It’s something I call everybody, _my dear,_” Dorothea says, all smiles and bright green eyes framed by long, dark lashes. “So get used to it.” 

“I—will—not,” he insists.

Ashe walks by with a serving platter of cider; Dorothea snags a glass and hands it to Felix. 

“Maybe this will help,” she says. 

He gulps the cider down, and it does help. “Thank you,” he grumbles. 

“You are very welcome,” she places both hands on her hips, “My dear.”

He sighs. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Should using a term of endearment really qualify me as ‘insufferable?’” She touches his arm. “I care about you. Truly.” 

Felix can feel his face burn. “I didn’t ask you to care about me.”

“It really can’t be helped,” she says, fingering a thin gold chain around her neck. On it hangs a large ruby, sitting pretty in the valley of her breasts. “You’re just too cute, Felix,” she purrs. 

He gulps and turns away. “Don’t call me that either. ‘Cute.’”

“I’m only being honest.” Her hand creeps up his arm, to wrap around his biceps.

Felix jerks his arm away. “Dorothea. Please stop.” 

“Please stop what?” she asks. 

“Stop…touching me!” he splutters. “I don’t like being touched. You know that.” 

“Fiiiiine,” she whines, dropping her hand from his arm. “I only touch you to get you accustomed to physical affection.” 

“How do you mean?” he asks, turning back toward her. “Why do I need to get accustomed to physical affection?” 

“Because one day, when this war is over, you’ll set off on your own, sword in hand, and wander this cruel world alone and lost until you meet someone you fall in love with, who changes you utterly, inside and out, and you’ll need to tolerate_,_ if not like_,_ physical affection in order to reproduce with her—” 

“Stop right there.” He holds a hand up. “First of all, real life is nothing like the opera, so don’t paint me out to be some listless _hero_—” 

“It’s more dramatic, I would argue.” 

“And secondly, you’re just saying this stuff to embarrass me, aren’t you?” he grumbles. “Or to fluster me.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m totally _not!_” 

“You’re so transparent, Dorothea.” He taps a foot on the floor. “I can see right through you.” 

“I—I—well—” Her face flushes pink in a very becoming way.

“Look who’s stuttering now.” He smirks.

“Oh, don’t be so _smug_, my _dear.”_ She thwacks him playfully on the chest. “Can’t a pretty girl flirt with a handsome boy without being called out?” 

He scratches the bridge of his nose and can feel his lips forming into a pout, which he actively stops. “Stop…stop joking around! You were not _flirting—”_

“Oh, I’ll be the judge of that—”

“Seriously, stop trying to fluster me.” He moves to a nearby table to set his plate and empty glass down.

Dorothea follows after him. “I’m sorry if you took offense, Felix. I was just having some fun.” 

“More like _making_ fun,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in being the butt of your jokes. Or anyone’s jokes for that matter.” 

“You’re just so serious all the time.” She steps in front of him and sets a hand down on the table, blocking his way. “It’s why I tease you so much.” 

Felix’s eyes keep going back to that ruby. That fat, round ruby, sitting atop her breasts… “Where’d you get that?” he asks, changing the subject. He gestures toward her chest. 

“Where’d I get what?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. She has her hair in a loose bun today, and a strand of brown hair falls across her cheek.

“You know. That.” He waves his hand again, his gaze dropping to her bosom and then, oh goddess, okay, back up to her face. 

“My dress?” she asks, biting down on her bottom lip. Worrying it until it gets plump and red. “I had this tailor-made for me a couple of years back actually. I never got the chance to wear it, though.” 

“No, not the dress,” he says. “Though it is…something.” He scratches the back of his neck and turns his gaze skyward. “The necklace. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, this little thing?” She looks down at her chest and caresses the gem. “It was a gift to me.” 

“From whom?” he asks. 

“Oh, you know…from somebody special.” She slides a hand down her chest, over her flat belly. It rests atop her thigh. Her smooth, pale thigh, bared almost entirely to the world for all to admire. 

One of his eyes starts to twitch as he stares at her leg.

“See something you like?” Dorothea’s playful tone shakes him out of his trance. 

“What? No.” He’s full on blushing now, and he hates it, he hates it, oh how he _hates it._ “Who, uh, who is this special someone?” He forces himself to look at her face. Her ridiculously beautiful face: unblemished and symmetrical, betraying none of the poverty (she had confessed one drunken night) that she had grown up in.

She laughs and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Wow, look at you. Interested in my love life now, are we?”

He rolls his eyes. One of his hands tightens into a fist. “I’m not _remotely_ interested in your love life. I’m just. Curious about the ruby.” He clears his throat and opens his hand. “House Fraldarius controls a few mines around the Ventoux Mountains. I know jewels. Yours is nice and, uh...big.” 

“Why thank you,” she says, touching a finger to her lips. “I _do_ like big jewels.” 

The back of his neck feels hot; it’s unbearable. He turns his back to her and whines, “Will you stop that?” 

“Stop what?” she asks. He can feel a hand on his arm again. He tries to shake her off and fails. 

“Stop—stop—stop _sayingsexuallychargedthingsatme_,” he blurts. 

She steps around to face him. “Can you repeat that? I didn’t catch the whole—”

“Stop. Saying. Sexually charged things at me,” he growls. “It’s very distracting, and I don’t…I don’t…”

“You don’t…?”

“I don’t like it.” He pouts. “It makes me uncomfortable.” 

“Ahhhhhh. I see, I see.” Her lips pull into a smirk. 

He glares at her, then at where she’s touching his arm again. “No, you don’t see.” 

She drops her hand. “Well, I guess I don’t _really_ see why my suggestive language is such a big deal, but if you feel uncomfortable, I can tone it down—”

“It’s because of _this whole thing_.” He gestures vaguely at her body. “It’s all just…so…a lot. For me.”

She stiffens, back straightening. “Um, excuse me? What exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. Just that sometimes you’re a little too much for me.” 

She furrows her eyebrows. “Is that right? And what exactly about _this whole thing_ is too much?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“‘_Oh, you don’t know_’?” Her eyes flash. “Explain yourself.”

He bristles by the weight of her gaze. “Do you really want to know?” 

“Of course, Felix. It’s why I _just_ _asked you to explain yourself_.” 

“Well, to be honest, it’s...it’s the cut of your dress, and how I can see your underwear right now, and how your legs—” He knows he has fucked up as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

She grabs a fistful of his collar and shoves him backward onto the table behind them. He hits the wood surface with an _oof_ as she pins him, traps him with her arms on either side of his head. 

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, you motherfucking _bastard—” _Her eyes are hot and her face furious. “You have _no right_ to criticize how I dress, you cynical, misanthropic, _angry_ piece of shit—”

He deserves the humiliation and he knows it, but his ego can’t take such a public beating. “I wasn’t saying any of it was _bad_, alright? Just that—”

“Just that _what_, Felix?” 

“That—that it’s too _much_ for me—”

“No one else seems to be complaining, so why are you?” she shouts. “Unless you think I’m somehow less worthy than everyone else here because my skirt is a little tight? Because I’m showing off some skin?” 

He struggles against her half-heartedly; really, he could easily push her off, but it’s the way she looks as though she might cry, as though he’d accused her of being a whore out loud, that tells him he deserves this punishment, that he’s not a good friend, that he’s a bad, _bad_ person to have hurt someone he actually holds dear, who arouses him, whose heaving chest is very very close to his face right now, and if he stares intently enough he can see a hint of pink nipple, heaving up and down to the rhythm of her heavy breathing—

She steps back from the table and rights her dress (alas). A few people look on from the sidelines anxiously, awkwardly.

“I spoke out of line,” Felix says, pushing himself off the table. He covers the front of his pants with a hand. “I apologize.” 

“Apology _not_ accepted,” she says curtly, not looking him in the eye. She turns and storms out of the dining hall. 

Felix watches her leave, her backside retreating into the distance, feeling like a complete shitbag. A real dick. 

Made worse by his cock throbbing so hard in his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a good ship. Please spread the word. We must proselytize!!


End file.
